The ink from your little fountain pen
Wrote in a language
I do not speak
About persecution
I never knew
In a place
I've never seen

The ink from your little fountain pen
Built a bridge between our worlds
That you cross with each reading of your yellowed pages
And in spite of the typhus in Berlin
That sent you to your unmarked grave
Your vibrance and your courage
Shall never truly die

The Queen
The queen stands tall for her engagement.
She must after all, life is only so short.
And like a steel-taloned Roc she is a
hunter, laying any bourbon faced buffoons as prey,
as soon as they enter her chambers.
Who would stand her predatory beauty?
A pittance to erect such fine grandeur!
Ivory towers with gilded banisters,
Eatery of the thousand cornered world,
And embroidered well dressings for the,
Cake eating commoners!
A queen of what, you may ask?
Well she is a queen sofa,
In a dump filled with psuedo-scientific
mechanical works, and nihilistic grub,
that only emphasize her glamour.
Is it not beautiful?

Okay, so because I cocked up this contest at the beginning, and there hasn't been much time for entry, I've made the decision to extend it by a further week. This means that the contest entry will remain open until Monday 4th July 2011. The voting stage will then open, closing on Thursday 7th July 2011.

Sorry about this, but hopefully it'll give more members the opportunity to enter, raising the number of participants.

Love at first sight
Only happens in bedtime stories
Only belongs to princesses
Or knights in shining armor
She felt love before first sight
A new kind of love
Different from that first kiss
Or that first boy that first night
Different from the warm hand
That comforted her as a youth
This love is worlds apart
This love is worlds of one

Daily her love grew
Fluttering inside her
Sharing one heart beat
Beating separate hearts
Time passed quickly
Her body moved freely
Fluttering inside her
She’s been holding on
Its time to move on
Her pain is unbearable
She doesn’t want to let go
Her feeling cant be fought
She pushes through it
One final breath
She hears his tear
Its love before first sight
His hand sets on her chest
"I love you" she whispers
Her newborn snuggles and rests

[I originally wrote this for an idea I had for a chapbook of 26 poems, each titled after a letter of the alphabet. I initially felt this might not be suitable, but based on brief discussion with one of the mods, I figure this is fine. The one censored word rhymes with another word in the same line.]

H

Burned then frozen.
There I lay in Lover’s Lane,
Heartbreak Hotel said I overstayed my visit.
So I move on, go long, get a touch down and so on,
Then all of a sudden the molten ice that was me saw
A thing more watchable than TV.
More poetic than a rusted shut trunk, who’d have thunk
Those tight denim overalls would be enough to melt my snowballs?
After all, a month without sex is like a month without air and love smelled sweeter than my new queen’s hair.
So we walked and we talked and I rocked with my cock and it was over.
In depth investigation through conversation
Showed what I already knew
I’m a Retriever, she’s a Dalmatian.
Tough luck, but she was a good ****.
Frozen again, back at the Hotel with the other heartbroken slobs,
Miserable people is what makes hell Hell.

Though thistles sound their whistles without hint
And thorns curved downward do with hearts collide—
Though hands be bloodied, several fingers rent,
And ruthless law strives ever to divide—
Deceitful stems like towers e’er eclipse
The sun— a stranger scarcely seen on high—
The air itself with menace is equipped—
The tending far more costly than Versailles—
My banner— crimson standard— I rejoice;
These open wounds I do refuse to bind.
Undaunted, quill and parchment trump the voice
Of all the cynics and their scowls combined.
The rose atop the fortress will yet thrive;
Quintessence forces fervor to survive.